It's Not About Love
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: At the height of the war, as Emmeline is about to graduate, she has some important decisions to make concerning her future. RB/EV.


Emmeline did not want to talk about it, but apparently Regulus did.

The seventh year Slytherin swept a stray lock of hair from her face and sat down into the armchair that Regulus had indicated. The common room was practically empty except for a couple of third years doing homework in the corner. Regulus watched her for a moment, then sat down himself.

"Emmi," he said quietly, clasping both hands in front of him and watching her face carefully. "It's no easier for me than it is for you. But we both must face reality. After we graduate, I will have to get married. Perhaps not right away but soon. And I can't marry you although I would like to, given half the chance."

She gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "How romantic, Regulus. But why can't you marry me? Am I not Pureblood enough for you?"

Regulus shook his head quickly, looking away at the spluttering fire, closing his eyes briefly as he tried to choose his words carefully. "Emmeline, my heart is in this war. Your family is quite…liberal, to say the least. I…" He looked back at her and held her eyes meaningfully. "You must know whose side I'm on."

Emmeline found herself on her feet before she could sustain her temper. Regulus jumped to his feet as well. He reached for her hand but she pulled it away, taking a step back. She didn't want to look at him, she did not want to see those eyes and the way they pleaded for her to understand. "I don't need to know about that. I don't care!" She spun on her heel and ran, away from having to face the truth. She knew it, of course. Regulus had long since belonged to the war and to the Cause. But she always thought that perhaps, if she waited long enough, it would stop mattering.

It hadn't.

She could hear him calling her name and his footsteps perusing her as she mounted the stairs to the girls dormitories. At the top landing, Regulus' strong arms wound around her and she found herself pushed against the corridor wall. Emmeline gasped and then held her breath as Regulus turned her around slowly to face him. Her hair was falling in her eyes and he swept it away in a gentle, fluid movement that made her want to cry. "You know I can't be with you if you are on the other side of this war, Emmi! How could I ever trust you? How could my family?"

"You don't trust me?" She tried to wrench her hand away but he had her pinned against the wall. In the dark, she could only make out parts of his face. "You know I love you, Regulus!" She tried again to make him let go of her, but, for once, Regulus was persistent, abandoning all formalities and all prescribed norms and decencies of proximity between maid and youth.

"It's not about love," Regulus hissed.

"Then what is it about?"

He rolled his eyes and squeezed her hands tightly. "It's about our principles and how they don't match."

"I don't care about that, I don't care about this war. Regulus, lets…lets run away? I don't know, can't you just not fight? Do you even know what you're fighting for?"

"Of course I know. I believe in the Honor of Wizarding Blood, Emmi."

"And I don't believe in gaining political goals through murder!" She was trying hard to not yell but it was difficult. "Regulus, please."

But Regulus was already shaking his head. He took a step away from her, letting go of her hands. "That's what this is about, Emmi," he said quietly, and walked away into the shadows of the staircase. Emmeline covered her face with her hands and scrunched up her eyes, willing herself to not cry.

* * *

"Sit." Walburga Black was an intimidating woman, for anyone, not to mention a future daughter-in-law. Emmeline was not the sort to be easily intimidated but as she sank into an armchair in the Black sitting room, feeling unnatural and uncomfortable in the maidenly gown she was wearing, she could feel her heart rate increasing, thrumming against her ribs. Walburga sat across the coffee table from the girl and picked up her cup of tea. "So you wish to marry my son," Walburga started calmly, casually, as though telling Emmeline her newest hairstyle was an interesting choice.

"He wishes to marry me," Emmaline corrected, then added, "But he feels he can not." It had been a few months since her conversation with Regulus about the possibility of marriage. He had not kissed her since then and Emmeline was feeling the lack of contact with Regulus building up and pressing down on her. She wanted, desperately, to convince him that they could still make something out of their situation. But she did not wish to marry a Death Eater yet that was something Regulus was unwilling – or unable – to give up. She would have to take him as is and lately Emmeline was uncertain whether she could.

"Why is that?" Walburga asked in her trademark tone – an ominous calm under which brooded a wealth of unreleased turmoil. "Do you not wish to marry him?"

"I love him," Emmeline said quietly, looking anywhere but at Walburga. Desperate, she picked up her own teacup and took a small sip.

"Yes, but that is not what I asked," Walburga noted, setting her cup down on its saucer with a clinking sound.

"I…" Emmeline felt her cheeks heating up. She wished, suddenly, that she had had the upbringing of other Pureblood girls. That her liberal parents would have bothered to school her in all the social graces so that now she would not have to feel quite so inadequate.

The chime on the grandfather clock in the corner rang the hour.

Walburga stood and paced to the fireplace, stopping to gaze up at the portrait of her husband which hung above the mantel. "You are a smart woman, Emmeline," she began thoughtfully. "You are a Pureblood, you are in Slytherin, you are beautiful and you have incredible potential. Yes-yes, Regulus has told me all about your lofty dreams. You want to be remembered by the world, you want to leave a mark. Incredible ambition for a woman, but…" Walburga made a resigned gesture. "Your parents have made some unfortunate choices – both socially and financially – but you can easily…rectify this problem with a good marriage. You have just said you love Regulus. I see no reason why a match as brilliant, advantageous and dear to your heart as my son would not satisfy you."

"I…he…he is a Death Eater," Emmeline said quietly, feeling her cheeks flush. Walburga was right, of course, about all the things a match with Regulus would mean to her. Her family were a step away from being labeled blood traitors, her father's armature financial machinations had left her practically dowerless, becoming a Black would be an incredible social jump and dear Merlin! All she wanted was to be with Regulus.

"Well, dear girl, that can not be changed. Frankly, I do not see why it should."

Emmeline sat aside her cup and stood so Walburga did not seem to tower over her quite so much. She fidgeted with the frilly, lacy cuff of her sea-green gown and made a good-faith effort to meet Walburga's demanding, dangerous gaze. "I do not believe in violence…as a way of achieving ones goals. I think…I think this war is stupid and Regulus' Lord has…has gone too far."

Walburga's eyes flashed, her chin tilted upwards as she stalked across the room toward Emmeline. The younger woman fought the instinct to back away until Walburga was standing directly before her. "Then, perhaps, you are not a suitable match for my son after all," she hissed. Her eyes then shifted to something behind Emmeline and she added, more calmly, "Is that not so, Regulus?"

Emmeline whirled on her heel to see Regulus standing in the doorway of the drawing room, hands in white gloves clasped tightly before him, head slightly lowered and his eyes skittish, unwilling to meet her own. How long had he been there? "Regulus?" Emmeline prodded after a moment, pleading with him with her eyes. Everything inside her felt heavy, soaked through with desperation and uncertainty. Why did she have to chose between something she wholeheartedly believed in on moral principle and the man she loved, who could also be her ticket to all of her aspirations?

Regulus shifted, then looked up and spoke, addressing Walburga but looking at Emmeline. "My loyalty is to this family, Mother. I will not make a misalliance."

For a moment, the drawing room was completely still. Then, the dark haired girl who could have been the future wife of the heir of the House of Black, ran from the room, down the hall and out of the large, old house, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "It is for the best, Regulus," Walburga told her stiff but subdued son who remained standing in the doorway. "You still have plenty of time to find yourself a suitable bride."

* * *

Several months later, just before the year ran out and several days before the papers exploded with the news of the Black heir's rumored disappearance, Emmeline received an owl with a note. The note was unsigned but she recognized the hand easily as Regulus'.

The note read: I'm sorry. You were right.

A week later, Emmeline Vance found herself inducted into the Order of the Phoenix.


End file.
